Honesty and hope

While it's tough to live your life hoping for a miracle, it's even tougher, I think, to live eliminating hope.

Possibly I'm just not wired that way.  So much of what I do every day (I'm talking about my career) hinges on having enormous buckets of hope.

I spent an hour in my therapist's office yesterday crying about how I needed to try to give up any hope that I would get the outcome I need.  Because three years of actively trying to conceive and having nothing to show for it but heartbreak needed to end.  Because I need to protect Niblet from getting her hopes raised.  Because I am drained and scared of another horrible gutting outcome and isn't self-preservation smarter in the long-run?

But I sit here realizing that I am also being dishonest.  The tears are real, but they don't feel like me.  Debbie downer that I can be, I am generally one of the more hopeful people you'll come across.  I have hopes and dreams for peace for humanity that many people view as pollyana-ish and trite. 

Maybe I can take Niblet out of this equation.  Maybe I can keep plugging away at my supplements and vitamins, and yoga videos and wellness and exercise and acupuncture. Maybe I can still ensure that my husband and I are timing everything just right.  Maybe - just maybe - I can deliver a miracle. With a little hope.